


Justifiable Kissing

by dettiot



Category: Arrow (TV 2012)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-03
Updated: 2014-12-03
Packaged: 2018-02-28 00:31:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,675
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2712413
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dettiot/pseuds/dettiot
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Just how do you explain Oliver and Felicity’s interactions in The Flash 1x08?  Clearly, it’s a ‘what happens in Central City stays in Central City’ kind of thing.  Set the night that Team Arrow arrives in Central City, after road tripping from Starling City.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Justifiable Kissing

**Author's Note:**

> You can blame/thank effie214 on Tumblr for this. Not as porny as I’d like, but I’m still pretty happy with how it turned out. So I hope you enjoy it. :-) Already posted on Tumblr.

“Okay, Felicity,” she whispered to herself, staring at her reflection in the mirror. “Yes, you’re in a really nice hotel in Central City, and Oliver maneuvered his way into the room that’s got an adjoining door with yours, and he’s been all . . . flirty and smiley and happy ever since we left Starling City. But that does not mean that Central City is Vegas. There is nothing that happens here that will be staying here. Because that never works.” 

Straightening up, Felicity quickly smoothed a hand over her hair and nodded. With that pep talk, she should be safe. There was no danger here. None whatsoever. 

And that lasted until she opened the door of her room, all ready to go knock on Oliver’s and Digg’s doors and find out what they were doing for dinner, only to see Oliver standing there, all casual in jeans and a white shirt and oh, God, his shirt sleeves were rolled up. That--those arms--that was not fair!

“Hey,” he said, smiling at her, all big with teeth and everything. “Digg said for us to go ahead and get dinner without him; he’s having dinner with Lyla via video chat.” 

Her eyes must be the size of dinner plates, because his smile faded a bit and he got that worried/confused look and then he was stepping forward. “Felicity? What’s wrong?” 

How could he be asking that? Wasn’t it obvious? Hadn’t it been clear ever since that scene in the hallway of the hospital, when he had kissed her, refused to end things cleanly, and proceeded to bury himself in sadness? “And now we’re not in Starling City, and you’re acting like you used to, back when I bought you a bed and gave you a fern, and it’s just--it’s too much, Oliver, I can think really fast and I can multitask like a computer but this is more than I can handle and I just need you to--” 

Oh, God. She had said all that to him. And he was just . . . _gazing_ at her, damn it, like she was the most amazing, beautiful, adorable creature on Earth, and those kinds of looks DID things to a girl. 

So if kissing Oliver Queen was a crime, there was no court in the land that would indict her for it, because this was justifiable kissing. 

Felicity hadn’t forgotten what it had felt like to have Oliver kiss her. But it had been so sudden and shocking that she hadn’t really responded much. At least, she hadn’t responded like she wanted. That wasn’t the case this time. No, this was her hands gripping his shoulders tightly, bringing his mouth down to hers. This was lips and tongues clashing and sucking and licking and even a few nips of teeth. And this was all those muscles of his that she had spent long moments memorizing with her eyes and discovering they felt even better when pressed up against her. 

Panting against his lips, Felicity yanked harder on Oliver’s shoulders, trying to relieve the ache in her calves and her back that came from trying to reach him. His big warm hands, ohhh, he was a mind-reader! Because he was sliding those amazing hands of his under her and lifting her up, letting her shoulders rest against the door of her room as he kissed her. And this time, she kissed him back, going slow, wanting to take her time. Even if in a moment he came to his senses and stopped, she wanted to know what it was like to kiss Oliver as if they had all the time in the world. 

“Can I--we should--” Oliver panted against her neck, his shoulders trembling a little under her hands. “Felicity . . .” 

It was quite possible that him saying her name was enough to make her come, Felicity thought fuzzily. “Come inside, Oliver,” she muttered, dragging her lips along his jaw as she reached behind herself to jiggle the handle of her door. 

The door opened and Oliver stumbled his way in, barely holding on to her and keeping her from hitting the floor. “How . . . ?” he asked, looking befuddled. 

She grinned at him. “You really want to know how I rigged my door, or would you rather . . . ?” She gestured to the row of buttons that fastened her silky pink blouse. 

“Right,” he said, nodding, his eyes narrowing as he focused on her. And that made her back arch a little unconsciously, and that made Oliver growl a little, and growling should _not_ be sexy, but it was when Oliver did it.

Her breaths came faster as his fingers began carefully undoing each button, and the suave bastard started from the _bottom_. She was ready to tell him to hurry it up, when she looked at his face and she felt all her words melt away. 

Because she thought she knew every Oliver there was. But this Oliver? She didn’t know him. She didn’t know this man, who had all this love for her in his eyes, who stroked her stomach as he opened her blouse and made her whole body heat up--this Oliver was new to her. And she wanted him. 

But then, as long as he was some version of himself, he would be her Oliver. And that was all she wanted. 

“Oliver,” she said softly, leaning in to kiss his Adam’s apple. 

“Felicity,” he responded, looking at her as he undid the last button. He took a deep breath, and she could see him gathering himself, probably to tell her something like he had in the hallway. She bit her lip, bracing herself, but then . . . he looked at her, and he just shook his head and smiled a little and kissed her again. 

And she just gave herself over to his kiss. To his hands and his everything. 

Their clothes ended up on the floor--except for his boxer briefs, which she flung across the room before she wrapped her hands around him, making Oliver let out this half-gasp, half-moan that was really, really, really hot, especially when it was right in her ear. She couldn’t get enough of touching him, with her fingers, her lips, her tongue. She needed this. 

Suddenly, she was on her back on the bed, and Oliver was looming over her, and he was grinning at her, his eyes dark yet bright, and _ohhhhh_ . . . she wasn’t prepared for how devastating he was. And that was before he leaned down and wrapped his lips around her nipple.

All her thoughts just melted away then. It was just about sensations and feelings--there was no thinking. And it was amazing and glorious and . . . perfect. It was Oliver’s hand sliding up her inner thigh, it was her lips running over his collarbones, it was her breasts dragging over the ridges of his abdomen. It was the light in his eyes as he leaned in to kiss her, it was the way her heart pounded as she rocked her hips against his. 

Best of all . . . it was Oliver sliding inside her, his face going a bit slack and his hands gripping the bedsheets by her head. Felicity lifted her legs, wrapping them around his hips, needing to keep him right there. She didn’t want him to leave in case he didn’t come back.

Oh-so-lightly, he brushed his nose against hers. “Felicity . . .” 

“Don’t--don’t move,” she panted, looking up at him, her still-on glasses a bit crooked. “Don’t go.” 

He lowered himself, covering her with his body and sliding even deeper, prompting matching groans from them. “Oh, fuck, Felicity,” he muttered. “Shh--it’s okay . . .” 

She felt like she was already falling apart and she didn’t know if he’d be there to put her back together. This wouldn’t be enough to keep him with her--she knew that, she had seen her mother try over and over again and it was never enough, but for once, Felicity Smoak didn’t listen to her head. After a lifetime of knowing she wasn’t enough, she let herself believe that maybe . . . she was. 

“Oliver,” she whimpered, lifting her hips as much as she could, and that made him sigh, and it was a sound she wanted to hear over and over. And then he started moving, and he filled her up so much, like nothing and no one before, and she couldn’t even tell him that, because all her words were gone. 

All that was left were gasps and moans and actual honest-to-God keening as she got close, so close, and he was close, too, she could tell by how fast he was going, and and and--

“YES.” 

“Felicity!” 

XXX

Waking up was . . . odd. Because she was warm, even though she was naked and on top of the covers. But she was warm because Oliver was pressed up against her back, his arms wrapped around her. 

And . . . really-not-so-little Oliver was also pressing against her. 

Somehow, she held back the giggle she felt. Normally, this whole thing, everything that had happened since she had opened her door to Oliver last night, should be making her worry and wonder and out-and-out fret. But for some reason, she couldn’t do that. 

Instead, she was thinking about waking Oliver up for another round. And then getting some coffee. And flirting with him, like they used to. Staring at him and remembering how his abs fluttered when she licked them. And knowing that he knew what she was thinking, and he was thinking about how she had gasped when he slid his hand between her legs. 

Maybe that was what the whole ‘what happens in Vegas’ idea was about. That when you got away from your normal life, you could be another version of yourself. 

For whatever reason, in Central City, she and Oliver could be together. And maybe they could take some of this back with them to Starling City, or perhaps once he was surrounded by his mission again, Oliver would push her away life before. 

But no matter what happened, they would always have this. 

End.


End file.
